


Excuse me Sir, but you're test-passing (or the story of how Peter got himself a Step Dad)

by HogwartsToAlexandria



Series: Stony Week 2019 [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angry Tony Stark, Bullying, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, M/M, Not Flash Friendly, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Pre-Slash, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Stony Week 2019, Trans Male Character, Trans Peter Parker, Transphobia, Transphobic Flash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 01:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19241434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HogwartsToAlexandria/pseuds/HogwartsToAlexandria
Summary: He takes his mug to sip on it on the way to Peter’s room. He knocks on the door gently. Nothing happens. He knocks again, “Pete?”There are rules in this house - no one enters anyone’s room before getting the go-ahead. The only way one can live a smooth, happy life between teenage boy and single father.“Peter? You up, bud?” Tony glances at his watch, the vein in his temple pops out a bit as he worries his jaw.Parenting is an endless series of dilemmas.If Peter isn’t up yet he’ll invariably be either rushed or late when it comes to getting to school by fifteen to nine.Tony knocks louder, “Pete--”“Go away, Dad,”





	Excuse me Sir, but you're test-passing (or the story of how Peter got himself a Step Dad)

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for the final day (8) of the Stony Week! Hope you'll like it. 
> 
> Trans Peter holds my heart with a strong grip 💙💓💟💓💙
> 
> This was betad by QueenMaeve, thank you dear!!!

Monday mornings are always a pain. Tony’s only ever half-awake by the time he drops Peter at school even though that’s generally an hour after they both wake up. He trudges his way to the kitchen in hallways that are either still dark and littered with the clothes Peter's strewn around the night before; or bright and clean because the very same boy is full of contradictions and likes to wake up before the sun to play angel and fill Tony’s heart with love till it bursts.

He fills Tony’s heart with love till it bursts either way.

Today is the dark version. Tony rubs at his eyes trying his best not to trip over an abandoned hoodie, a slippery sock or worse - a backpack handle. He pushes the buttons to the electric blinds and flinches at the sheer noise they make, why do these things have to be so noisy?

Then comes the automatic kitchen mode: press heat on the coffee machine; bend down, first cupboard, a mug, Peter’s bowl, Peter’s juice glass; second cupboard, Peter’s cereals, Peter’s powdered chocolate; first drawer, Peter’s spoon, Peter’s vitamins; fridge, milk, oranges, strawberries and a questionable yoghurt. All on the table.

Tony puts his mug in the designated spot of his machine and starts it. He makes the juice, that usually wakes Peter up nicely. He washes his hands and sets the exact number of vitamin pills Pete needs to take next to his glass, then replaces them. By the time everything that can be prepared in advance is ready Tony is frowning - is it gonna be one of those late mornings?

He takes his mug to sip on it on the way to Peter’s room. He knocks on the door gently. Nothing happens. He knocks again, “Pete?”

There are rules in this house - no one enters anyone’s room before getting the go-ahead. The only way one can live a smooth, happy life between teenage boy and single father.

“Peter? You up, bud?” Tony glances at his watch, the vein in his temple pops out a bit as he worries his jaw.

Parenting is an endless series of dilemmas.

If Peter isn’t up yet he’ll invariably be either rushed or late when it comes to getting to school by fifteen to nine.

Tony knocks louder, “Pete--”

“Go away, Dad,” Peter’s voice finally filters through the door and Tony’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline in surprise.

“Pardon me? You ok in there?” Tony starts shifting from foot to foot, his fingers drumming on his thigh, his other hand clutching his coffee mug just a tad too hard. He wants to reach out for the door handle, but he doesn’t.

“I’m...I’ll be out in a minute, ok? Can you go back to the kitchen?” Peter sounds wrecked but he continues, sensing Tony’s hesitation, “Dad, please.”

Tony sighs but does as he’s asked. Better that way, for Pete at least because he’s a mess of nerves now.

Tony bites his lips, and it’s all he can do not to make a go for his nails as well. He drains a first cup of coffee, gets a second one. He’s halfway through the third when Peter finally emerges from his room, but he doesn’t look like he’s in the mood to scold him about his caffeine-intake right now.

They’re both quiet for a while. Peter’s hair falls in wet curls over his forehead and the nape of his neck and he’s already dressed - all in black, what the fuck?

He pours his cereal and milk, gulps the pills with his juice and starts munching but Tony can see it’s only out of habit; the little glint his son usually gets when the first taste of chocolate registers in the morning is absent. Peter’s eyes are downcast, but it does nothing to prevent Tony from seeing he’s been crying.

“Pete,” Tony starts, trying to get his attention, “Peter Benjamin Parker Stark, look at me,”

Peter struggles with making his decision, Tony can tell by the way his eyes flicker to about everywhere in the room but him until his shoulders sag and he does look up.

Tony’s breath is punched-out of his lungs the moment he sees those beautiful eyes, bloodshot and pleading and Tony wants to punch himself for not seeing whatever this is about. He puts his mug down and circles the table to crouch by Peter’s chair.

Peter follows him this time, as if now that he’s finally looking his father in the eye he can’t let that contact go.

Tony’s frowning when he brushes Peter’s hair off his forehead. He passes the back of his hand over his son’s cheek. His lips are raw with the sign of teeth having gnawed at them repeatedly and forcefully. Tony passes a trembling thumb over them.

“I’m gonna need you to talk to me, baby, huh?” Tony’s voice is a murmur; he doesn’t want to spook him but there’s no way they’re going to walk out of here without talking about whatever this is. No way in hell Tony’s going to drop him off at school if something is doing this to him.

Peter screws his eyes shut for a second, probably trying to stave off more tears but it’s no use - they fall the moment he tries to speak.

“It’s okay, you take your time,” Tony squeezes his hand, “All the time you need.”

Peter sobs and when he finally manages to tell Tony what's going on, the more into his story he gets, the more he folds on himself; the more he talks, the more his hands grip Tony's on his lap; the more he goes into exactly what people are doing to him at school, the more Tony loses it. He talks of bathroom issues and laughing or indifferent classmates, he talks of his dread of locker rooms and of girl clothes being thrown at him, of notes in his locker or on his backpack.

Tony barely refrains from cursing or breaking things. He doesn't even refrain from it consciously - he's just too broken by the look in his son's eyes and the need to rock him back and forth until they both disappear in a bubble of peace, the peace Peter deserves.

Parenting a trans kid is hard, but not because of the kid, because of others and what they do, say, think and how it impacts your child. Tony knows that, numerous other parents told him at the meetings.

He wasn't ready for this, even though he had pictured it time and again trying to prepare himself for what Peter could have to go through - but his imagination had never come close to this level of cruelty nor this high in the anger and heartbreak it pushed him to.

He lets Peter get to the end of his story. He doesn't break their eye contact, he doesn't pull away from the truly bruising hold his son has on his hand. A single tear escapes his resolve to go down to his neck.

Peter's cheeks are drenched and his nose this close to runny but neither of them pay that any mind.

The more Peter talks, the more Tony loses it - people can be carelessly invalidating and brutal but in this case, Tony's got a specific target once they emerge from the kitchen to go to school.

He gets up and picks Peter up, the same as he used to do when he was small enough that he couldn't wash his hands in the sink without the big boy step. Peter's legs wind around his hips like muscle memory and they hug, hard and reassuring, for a long time.

They go into the bathroom together. Tony washes Peter's face and tries to control his shaking hands. It doesn't work, and he didn't expect it to.

He showers his baby in pet names and what he hopes are grounding squeezes. Peter starts giving him small smiles here and there after a bit. It warms Tony’s heart as much as it shatters it.

My child, he thinks, my vibrant, beautiful, witty child.

“I’m going to ruin him,” Tony says when they stand in the kitchen again. They’re both ready to go but not quite yet and Peter’s eyes widen and Tony needs to know what’s going through his mind then but Peter doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t nod, he doesn’t cringe. He stays motionless while some more tears run down his cheeks.

Peter takes a deep breath and downs the rest of his juice.

“I love you, you, Pete, you know that, right?” Tony says, reaching a hand out for Peter to take or not. He does.

“Yes, Dad, love you too, about 12% more.”

The cheeky little shit, Tony smiles, “Let’s go,” he says once he’s pulled Peter by their joined hands to kiss his temple.

The drive is mostly silent, but the car is filled with a buzzing energy that demands release. Tony can feel the way Peter’s eyes dance from his hands on the wheel, to what he can see of his face and back to his own clenched fists.

He tries to give him a smile, one that means it’s all okay and he shouldn’t be worried but Peter is too clever to buy into that and Tony has always been honest with his son. He doesn’t feel like smiling now that his mind is clear with the precision of his anger - the closer they get to the school, the clearer he can see that Flash kid’s detestable face and he can’t help but grind his teeth.

They’re almost an hour late to Pete’s two-hour class when they get there. Tony’s never cared less. They get out of the car, and Peter silently follows his father inside the gymnasium.

It’s noisy in there, the sound of basketballs and shouting teenagers filling every bit of space and void. Tony marches with single-intent strides towards the kid he’s spotted the second he entered the room.

Peter hangs back to join his friends, good.

Tony’s rage is blinding. He reaches the boy; he’s facing the other way and it one smooth motion Tony uses his shirt to turn him around. The resulting stumble Flash goes on is harsh and he squeaks in surprise but then he sees Tony and his eyes widen.

“I assume you know who I am?”

Someone Tony can’t see whispers an entirely too loud, “Is it just me or did it just get cold as hell in here?”

Flash nods again and again, lost in the fire that has taken over Tony’s whole stance.

“You go for my son again, and I will kill you,” Tony threatens between gritted teeth, he’s putting all he’s got into not punching a hole through the kid’s face. Until Flash has the stupidest idea - he snorts.

Tony plunges for him, grips the collar of his shirt and speaks as close to his face as he could ever be, “You so much as talk to him, I kill you,” Tony repeats, and his voice is dark enough that all color leaves the boy’s face.

He lets go of him by way of throwing him a foot or two back and just then a deep, low voice resonates through the otherwise silent room.

“What’s going on here? Why did you all stop?”

Someone must point to Tony because the teacher gets up to them. Tony spares him a glance before going back to glaring daggers at the boy who’s been tormenting his child for weeks without so much as a reprimand. “Everyone back to playing, Peter you catch up with MJ’s team!” the man shouts and the kids go. “Not you,” he narrows his eyes at Flash.

Tony looks at the man sideways. He knows him, of course he knows him, Mr Rogers. He’s met him a few times last year, for Peter’s arrival freshman year - no way around it. Tony thinks he’d liked him alright but it doesn’t exactly register.

“You can’t come into my class to deal with outside problems concerning a student, Mr Stark,” the man says and Tony feels like snorting. He doesn’t but the way his face changes once again, from pensiveness to fury makes the man take a small step back.

“There are no “outside problems” here, there’s just the general incompetence of this fucking school in its duty to protect my son from assholes like this little shit, here,” Tony growls, “Unless you condone his behavior then maybe I’ll actually get to hit someone today,”

Mr Rogers’ eyes widen at Tony’s words, but he visibly does a double-take so Tony fishes the thing he’s kept in his pocket this whole time. Rogers follows Tony’s movements, mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

The piece of pink fabric flies awfully fast until it lands square in Flash’s face, “Maybe you wanna put that on? Should suit you I guess, the smallest shit on Earth should be able to get into an eight-year old’s clothes, right?”

Flash tries to defend himself and Tony is ready to jump down his throat this time but Rogers seems to finally catch up with what’s happening and he puts one of his large hands on Tony’s shoulder, “Hold up, you did _what_?”

His whole stance has changed and Tony only backs down when he realizes just how taut and angry the man’s posture has morphed into. He’s slow but efficient? A corner of Tony’s mind provides.

The man’s practically vibrating with his barely repressed anger. His head whips around to catch Peter’s eye for a mere second before he walks up to Flash and without a word, he gets a grip much like Tony had had on the boy’s collar and gets out of the room, dragging him along.

Tony watches him go before fetching his sunglasses out of his jacket pocket. He puts them on so the kids won’t see him frowning and clenching his eyes shut. He puts his hands on his hips to catch a breath. He senses Peter is here more than anything else. His son puts a gentle hand on his elbow and Tony smiles even as he is still trying to relax his jaw.

“You okay, Dad?” Peter whispers and Tony can’t help but pull him into a hug.

“Yeah, just glad I didn’t punch a sixteen-year old you know?” he says, and he knows Peter is smiling against his shoulder, “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you but I gotta protect the one thing I can’t live without--”

“And that’s me, I know, Dad, it’s okay,” Peter squeezes Tony’s shoulder and he’s back to smiling almost like he should be - with all his teeth.

They part after that and despite Tony’s very serious offer of missing school to go on a vacation together for the rest of the week, Peter chooses to stay, to go on with life and deal with business as usual.

Tony’s always floored by how much the pride he has of Peter can fill him up till it feels like it runs in his veins and today is no different.

“Always the responsible one, are you?”

“One of us s’gotta be,” Peter winks, “And call Mr Rogers, please, for God’s sakes, call him.”

Tony's eyes must be comically wide because Peter laughs openly. The fit reddens his cheek, the picture of teenage teasing.

"I have to say, he passed some kind of test right there, didn't he?" Peter says and Tony grunts his assent.

Kid's got a point. And the memory of those muscles flexing in anger on the beast of a man who serves as PE teacher? Not too bad either.

**Author's Note:**

> See you real soon for more fics ;-)


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